Silly, Smutty Coda to LARP and the Real Girl
by Call Me Babykins
Summary: Dean snags Charlie's crown on his way out of Moondor and has a little fun with it. Established Wincest. Warnings posted inside.
1. Disclaimer

The following is intended only for mature audiences. Discretion is advised. Contains graphic depictions of incest, rough fellatio ("face fucking"), and graphic comeplay. Includes mild breath play, role play, and explicit profanity.

The cover image is my edit (if you follow me on tumblr you'll recognize that it's also my icon). Do **not** use this image without my permission. Supernatural and its characters belong to Eric Kripke.


	2. Chapter 1

Silly, smutty coda to LARP and the Real Girl

No one noticed that Dean snagged Charlie's crown. Not even Sam. Of course they didn't, Dean's a fucking master thief. Plus he waited until Charlie and the rest of Moondor had gone home. That probably helped.

And he was going to put it back, God's honest, he'd just wanted to touch the damn thing, but then he had an idea. A royally fucking fantastic idea. So he had to take it with him. He'd ship to Charlie from the next Post Office they passed.

He stashed it in the Impala and managed to get it into the hotel room (under his FBI coat) without Sam noticing.

By the time Sam got out of the shower, Dean was starting to feel a little stupid. Okay probably a lot stupid. He was, after all,a grown-ass man in royal robes made out of a slightly itchy, faded floral patterned motel comforter and a stolen LARP crown. A queen's crown. And stupid girly rose-patterned makeshift robes. Not to mention he was hardly an Adonis anymore. There were crow's feet by his eyes and a couple extra pounds around his middle that he couldn't seem to shake. Sam would probably laugh at him. No, Dean decided, Sam would definitely laugh at him. He was in the process of tugging off the comforter when Sam opened the bathroom door, letting in a cloud of steam, vigorously towel drying his hair.

"You may want to give it a while, there's barely any hot water-" Sam stopped short as he caught sight of Dean standing in the middle of the room, comforter draped around his waist and crown on his head. Dean was about to say something—"ha, just kidding" or "don't you say a fucking word, Sam"—when Sam dropped his towel to the ground.

"Fuck, Dean," The words were a soft hiss.

Sam dropped hard to his knees, the impact loud and hollow on the thin carpet. Sam's breathing was heavy and he kept his eyes lowered. Like he was actually kneeling before his king.

Dean almost teased. He almost taunted, "You like that, Sammy, like being on your knees where you belong?" But the sight of Sam—particular, careful, proper Sam—half-hard and dripping water on the carpet sent a sharp heat straight to Dean's belly, short circuiting any instinct to make fun of Sam.

"C'mere," Dean cleared his throat. He wasn't sure which words were right. Sam would know, Sam would tease him about his misuse of archaic speech mechanics later, but right now Sam's every move screamed that Dean was in charge.

"Come here, Sam," Dean used his authority voice—his "listen to me because I'm the big kahuna" voice, the one Sam responded to almost automatically.

Dean wasn't sure what he'd expected, but when Sam shuffled forward on his knees he realized with a shiver that that was _not_ it.

Sam didn't even look up, keep his head bowed. His cock bobbed between his legs and he was going to have bright rugburn down both his shins in the morning, but he didn't show any discomfort.

He stopped before Dean, within arm's reach, but not touching him. A _respectful_ distance away Dean realized with a jolt that ran straight through his stomach to the tip of his cock. When Sam inclined his head even further and greeted him as "Majesty," Dean nearly bit through his tongue.

He swallowed and reached out, petting through Sam's tangled, wet hair to cup his cheek.

"I need you to—I require a service from you, Sam," Dean tipped Sam's face up so Sam was looking at him, throat completely extended.

Sam swallowed beneath his fingertips, eyes wide and clear. "Your Grace?"

And Dean didn't have a clue how to make his next words sound "authentic" so he didn't try.

"I'm going to, I'm gonna fuck your face, Sammy." It was Dean's turn to swallow convulsively, cock twitching with the words, with the images they conjured. "And you're going to take it all."

Sam lowered his gaze, eyelashes two sharp lines across his cheeks. His skin flushed, hot—almost singing with it—under Dean's touch. He nodded slightly, eagerly, but seemed to catch himself.

"Yes, D-" His voice broke. "Your Majesty."

When Dean dragged Sam's head forward, forcing Sam's face into his crotch, Sam didn't resist. He drew in deep, heaving breaths like the chance to breathe in the scent of Dean's arousal was a blessing, a gift. Dean could see his fingertips twitching; he could guess what Sam wanted—to nuzzle Dean's cock, to strip his comforter robe away, to take control of Dean's movements—but he stayed still, letting Dean guide him.

Dean kept one hand hard on the base of Sam's skull, keeping his cheek pressed against the length of his erection through the cloth while he fumbled shakily with his other hand to undo the knot holding the comforter up.

It finally fell around Sam's knees, letting his cock free, swinging slightly against Sam's cheek, leaving a shiny little line of precome.

Dean angled Sam's head, adjusting to bring his mouth right to the tip. Sam reached out with his tongue, but Dean pulled Sam's head back hard before he made contact.

"Don't, Sammy," he breathed. He was shaking a little, hands too-tight, white-knuckled in Sam's hair. "Going to give it to you. Don't … Just let me."

Sam looked up, just his eyes, just his brilliant greenhazel eyes, and nodded slightly.

"_Fuck_, Sam," Dean pressed against Sam's parted lips. Sam opened easily to him, still looking up at him.

Dean let the head of his cock rest on Sam's tongue. He expected Sam to break eye contact, to move, to beg him to move, but Sam stayed still even as his saliva pooled around Dean's cock, dripped around it.

Dean shivered, pressing further into the slick heat of Sam's mouth, watching for any sign of discomfort.

Sam raised his eyebrows as if it was a challenge, as if he was asking "I'm letting you do whatever you want with my mouth and … Really? That's all you got?"

He knew Sam could deep throat him, but taking rough, deep thrusts, the gyrations of Dean's hips with his cock buried in Sam's throat, the sensation of suffocating, unable to pull away or gasp for air was a completely different animal than swallowing a cock down slow.

Dean drew back and then slammed back in, bottoming out, feeling the fluttering of Sam's throat around him. Sam's eyes went wide and his hands twitched, but he didn't reach up to stop Dean so Dean didn't stop.

He pulled at Sam's hair, thrusting to meet him, snapping his hips fast, rough, feeling his cock hit the back of Sam's throat.

"Like that, Sam?" He could barely talk around the way his jaw clenched, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Like choking on my dick?"

Sam moaned, the vibrations running right through Dean.

Sam had never been quiet, but no previous noise he'd made had prepared Dean for the wet sucking, the desperate, thick noises of Sam sucking, the rough sound of Sam gagging, gasping for air as Dean pulled back.

Saliva dripped from Sam's mouth, slicking Dean's cock and balls as he pounded Sam's mouth, Sam never turning away, never pulling away, eyes on Dean.

_God_, the feeling of Sam's throat around the head of Dean's cock made him want to come right then.

Dean slowed his pace, flexing his fingers, sore from holding Sam so tight.

"Okay, Sammy?"

Sam made an "mmm" noise around him, eyebrows still raised like a challenge, like he could take more even if he wouldn't be able to talk in the morning.

Dean slammed in deep, circling his hips, cock filling Sam's throat, blocking his airway. Dean stroked Sam's hair, ran his thumb around the stretch of Sam's mouth around him. "Look so good like this, baby boy. Christ, you should see yourself."

Sam's eyes were watering, throat contracting as he tried to draw breath.

Dean held him there, arms shaking, until Sam put his hands on Dean's thighs, cheeks red and eyes nervous. But Sam didn't push him away, just laid his hands on Dean's thighs and closed his eyes.

"Christ, Sam, _fuck_,"

Dean pulled back, thrusting with a sharp, shallow, jolting rhythm, head thrown back until the crown almost fell off.

Sam moved then, spread his knees a little farther apart to ground himself and grabbing Dean's thighs to steady him as he came, eyes glazing over and knees going weak with the force of it.

Then as he watched, Sam drew in a breath and blew, spreading Dean's come up the length of his cock, splattering on his legs and balls, still warm and thin with Sam's saliva.

"Oh God, oh my fucking _God_, Sam," Dean wasn't sure if it had been completely intentional, wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed because he was pretty sure he was feeling nothing but turned on.

His cock slipped out of Sam's mouth, dripping, still half-hard.

Sam tugged at his hands. "Here, let me. Lemme go,"

Sam voice was harsh, like he'd been gargling rocks. Dean's cock twitched.

He loosened his grip in Sam's hair and focused on staying standing as Sam leaned back in and nuzzled his cock, sticking out his tongue to taste one of the pearly drops of come in Dean's pubic hair.

"Sam …" Dean wasn't sure what he'd meant to say, meant to ask or suggest, lost to the incredible picture of Sam—mouth fucked raw red—lapping up his come, scooping it up with the curve of his tongue, licking stray droplets from his lips.

It was Sam holding him still then as Sam slowly, attentively sought out every drop of Dean's come, cleaning him.

Dean was vaguely aware that the crown was about to slide right off the back of his head. Dean grabbed for it and overbalanced; it was only Sam's grip on his upper thighs that kept him from falling over backward, but it was his turn to hit his knees.

Dean leaned up to kiss Sam's fucked out mouth, licking away the sticky trail of precome he'd left on Sam's cheek, tasting himself on Sam's tongue. He reached for Sam's cock, but Sam grabbed his hand.

"Already got off," Sam's mouth was a smile against his.

"God_fuck_, Sam,"

Sam pulled back and grinned at him. "Will you be requiring anything else, Your Majesty?"

Dean pulled off the crown and settled it on Sam's head. "Your turn, Your Grace,"

He bowed low in front of Sam, leaning up to clean the wet mess of come on Sam's thighs.


End file.
